


National Personal Trainer Awareness Day

by LoveIsNotForSinners



Series: (Not) 365 National Days [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Learning to Fight, National Personal Trainer Awarness Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotForSinners/pseuds/LoveIsNotForSinners
Summary: Day 2 of daily writing attempt number 2. Lydia wants to learn to fight.





	National Personal Trainer Awareness Day

**Author's Note:**

> Thought about putting a 1,000 word limit on these shorts just to add a bit but then realized there will probably be one day I really run with a story and didn't want to miss out on that so it's still in the air as of now. I keep an open mind.

January 2: National Personal Trainer Awareness Day (No pairing, Lydia, Allison, Jordan)

Lydia sat in front of her vanity, holding a single wipe in her hand with make-up smeared on it from her face. Her window was locked, her door was locked, her bed was a mess and she hadn't moved since she finished the phone call. Everything had changed, everything was different and she really couldn't pinpoint what or who was to blame for all this chaos entering her previously simple life. She'd changed. She tosses the wipe into the trash and looks back in the mirror, there were slight bags under her eyes because almost every time she shut her eyes she saw Peter or a Kanima or...something. The wind whistled outside her window as she made her way back to her bed. She kind of understood now. Allison had this need to be stronger and better and she understood it now. Fear. She let her robe rest beside her bed and laid down, pulling the blankets over her. She reached to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, holding it and staring at it, letting her fingers drag across the side of it. 

There was no movement from her for three minutes as she waited for the screen to light up, as she waited for something to happen. Finally she powered it up, letting the light shine in the dim room, and unlocked the screen. There were no texts, no missed calls, though there were unread emails sitting in her inbox that she refused to touch right now. She pulled open her messages and started to type out a message, deleting it almost immediately before starting again. 

'Would you mind teaching me some of your' She stopped halfway through the message and gave a sigh. Allison was busy, her friend had a lot of stuff on her plate and having to protect Lydia while trying to make her better was asking too much. She erased the text again and let the phone rest on the nightstand and flicked off her lamp, rolling over. She closed her eyes and sighed as the wind howled again. Jackson was gone but Allison was still here. There were things out there she didn't understand and in some way, she definitely feared those things but once things settled down, she'd ask Allison to teach her how to fight or shoot or something to protect herself. 

**

Jordan isn't Allison, that's the first thought Lydia has. But here she is for another session, throwing punches and kicks like she wanted to. Keep your hands up, keep your eyes on your attacker. It becomes a second nature, his words ring true, her muscles recall just what to do, it's almost natural. Every single time she does something right he smiles at her in an impressed way and any mistakes he just asks her what she did. It helps so much. Her hands swat away his, he goes in and she dodges, throwing her own. She sees the slight smirk and throws another. 

“You're getting distracted.” She says. 

“You're getting better.” He replies to her, backing away to observe her stance. She smiles back. “You're getting really good at this.” She voices a thanks to him before they go for another round. Left block, right block, under, left. She throws a punch, catches him off guard. There's a grunt and he grips her wrist when it comes in for a third hit and smiles at her. It's not Allison, she thinks, but Allison would be proud of her.


End file.
